


Hit List of Five

by darkling



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Kill Bill (Movies)
Genre: Action, Crossover, Gen, Translation, what does it mean to be 'nobody'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling/pseuds/darkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark returns to the Seven Kingdoms to avenge her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. HIT LIST OF FIVE

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Death List Five](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/51515) by LenaSt. 



> This story was written by wonderful **LenaSt**. I thank her for letting me translate it into English and share with others. I hope you'll love it as I did.

HIT LIST OF FIVE

The galley from Braavos moored at Gulltown at dawn. The wind had been merciful and had taken the ship safely across the Narrow Sea and the Bay of Crabs.

Arya Stark stood on Westeros soil again. It had been six years since she got on the ship to Braavos leaving all her debts behind.

“Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei…” She knew Gregor Clegane had died, she’d heard it from the blabbing sailors. The Rep Serpent of Dorne killing the Mountain that Rides had become a legend. With time it got rich in detail, becoming ever so incredible and formidable. Arya smirked. So, her list had grown smaller over the years and five names it was.

She found a decent inn but had to haggle with the owner. The dodgy old man got the wrong idea when he saw a loner girl travelling light. She knew what she looked like to him. She was thin, had a face too long and narrow, her dark hair brushing her shoulders. Her smile was wicked and she had no manners. Besides, her breeches and jacket of soft leather were too strange for the Seven Kingdoms. But then again Arya didn’t intend to disguise, she was perfectly happy to be taken for a foreigner. She did her best to sound like a Braavosi girl and kept speaking with thick accent when talking to the owner of the inn.

The room cost her a fortune even though there was only a used-up bed in it. Arya lay on it thinking where to start.

Dunsen… That was the first name on her list. She furrowed her brow trying to remember the ugly dirty face with large pores. The oaf who took away Gendry’s helmet. He was one of Gregor’s men, which meant she had to go either to Harrenhall where she’d seen him last or to Lannisport, to the Cleganes’ castle. That was, of course, if Dunsen was still alive. Arya really hoped he was. She took the coin out from the secret pocket and flipped it. The coin glinted in the dim light of a single candle and turned a few times before falling on Arya’s palm. Tails.

Arya Stark was going west, to Lannisport.


	2. DUNSEN

It was an ordinary evening in the barracks, the air full of drunken voices. They were laughing at bawdy jokes, more out of habit than them being really amusing.

Dunsen hated it all. He was too tired to be a good soldier and too poor to quit. Those evenings were all he had. He’d long lost all hope to change his life.

He was the captain of the guard, which made him feel important. There was nothing more he could expect from this life: just hitting the novices gone too far and pawing the giggling kitchen girls all he liked.

He’d grown fat over the last two years and the armour was getting too thin in the seams. He adjusted the too tight belt and went out into the yard undoing his breeches on the way. It took him a long time to do the business, all the while he was swinging even though he was resting his hand against the wall. Dunsen was really worried about the sharp pain in the stomach. It took a lot of time to get the last drops out of the bladder because it was too damn painful. He’d almost finished when a cold sharp blade touched his stubby cheek.

“Turn around”, said a woman’s voice. “And no nonsense”

Dunsen mumbled “Oi, as you wish, lady” and turned abruptly and knocked out her sword. Well, he thought he did, but the next moment the edge cut his palm and touched his nose.

“Try it again! Go on!” her voice was strangely kind.

“What do you need? Who are you?” Dunsen tried to see her face, but the girl’s figure looked too vague in the dim light of the late evening. Only her eyes were distinct and as sharp as her sword.

“I am one of the four kids you and Amory Lorch took not far from the God’s Eye seven years ago. Do you remember me, Dunsen?”

“N-no, I don’t… It must be a mistake, lady.”

“Oh really! You can’t have forgotten! It was such a feat. Eh, Dunsen? You must still have the trophy – a bull’s head helmet.”

Dunsen started to recall something. It was a tall swarthy dark-haired boy, and the sharp-horned helmet was shining. It was too good for the ragamuffin. And there were two others with him, a fat boy and a skinny one. The forth one was wounded and Raff the Sweetling killed him… no, it couldn’t be,,,

“Have you recognized me, Dunsen? I’m the young Arry. Though I don’t think you ever heard my name.”

The sword dangerously moved forward, just the tiniest bit. Dunsen felt something salty trick down his lips.

“Please!” he begged. “Please, lady. Whatever I did, I did it because I had to. Ser Amory…”

“… is dead. It served him right to die the death of an old dog.”

The hatred in her voice was too vibrant and even more frightening than the sword. Dunsen felt his stomach clench with fear. He could only pray that somebody came into this quite corner and ended his suffering.

“Very well…” the girl seemed to stop to think. The sword wasn’t pressing that much anymore. “Tell me where Raff the Sweetling is and I’ll let you go.”

“You will?” Dunsen was overcome with relief. He only had to make her take away the sword and then he’ll run to the barracks in no time and get the boys up. They’ll make the little bitch regret ever coming here. “He’s in Harrenhall. Lord Bolton let him stay in his army. He’s there, don’t you doubt my words.”

Thanks the Seven, she put down the sword. Dunsen grabbed his bleeding nose not taking his eyes off the motionless figure. He was waiting for the moment, she was bound to look away, but suddenly her strong hand caught his throat and brought him closer to her.

“I hope you didn’t lie.”

There was a quiet ‘whoosh’ and then the sword cut Dunsen’s fat bulging gut just above the belt. His insides fell out like greasy sausages, which the captain used to love so much. He gurgled something and fell on the ground.

Arya wiped the sword clean, put it in the sheath and stepped into the darkness.


	3. THE SECOND DEATH

Raff the Sweetling was really looking forward to Lord Ramsay’s visit. He was proud of the surprise he’d prepared for the master. Raff was licking his lips just thinking what Ramsay would say when he saw the bird Raff had caught for him. He felt a sweet sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Raff was so excited he was nearly ready to go use the girl himself.

The day before a lone traveler had knocked on the castle door. A Braavosi girl to judge by her accent. She was going to King’s Landing and asked to stay the night. There were too many Silent Sisters and other ramble travelling the roads these days. So when the guard had told Raff about the girl he’d almost told him to chase her away the same moment. Good thing he’d thought to look at her first. She was skinny, that much was true, and her hair was too short, just barely touching her shoulders. But she had a pretty face, her eyes were big like two grey ponds, her little chin was so sharp and her mouth looked so soft. He almost felt sorry for her for there wouldn’t be much left of her after Bolton finished with her.

Raff the Sweetling smirked hungrily. Perhaps he should see her first himself. Lord Ramsay wouldn’t really mind and Raff would have something to enjoy too.

He came up to the mirror and looked at himself. Raff was proud of his nickname. Even now when he was the castellan of Harrenhall he liked to be called by his old nickname. Raff the Sweetling smoothed his hair and left the room.

The girl was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed. Her dark hair was partly covering her face, which made her look all the more wild.

“When I tried to go out the door was locked”, she said defiantly lifting her head. “Do you always treat your guests this way?”

“Our lord has gone away and there are too many new men in the castle”, his voice was soft when Raff replied. He smiled his best smile. “That was for your own safety.”

He sat beside her and casually put his hand on her thigh.

“My name’s Raff the Sweetling. I’m kinda the castellan.”

“Arry.”

“Arry what?”

“Why do you care?” she laughed.

Spurred by her playful mood, Raff the Sweetling moved closer to the young body. Arry smelled of leather, smoke and something sweet like the milk of the poppy.

“Where were you heading all alone, Arry?”

“That’s too long a story”, she spoke as if she didn’t notice Raff’s lips on her temple. “In fact, I have already arrived there.”

“Have you?”

A bell rang in his head warning him. He put his hand on Arry’s shoulder and felt the hardness of muscles under the deceivingly soft skin.

“And who were you looking for, sweety?” he gripped her hard, hurting her, but Arry just kept smiling like she felt nothing. Her lips were suddenly too close.

“You could say I’ve already found him…”

“You have, haven’t you!” he grasped her roughly by her chin. He was starting to get tired of these games. “Say what you want!”

She slapped him on the eyes, hard and fast. Raff fell off the bed and she kicked him in the neck, her heel hitting him in the neck right where the vocal cords are. Raff started chocking on the thick blood. All he could do was wheeze with terrible pain. Arry kneeled and grabbed him by his fair hair lifting his head. She had a knife in the other hand.

“Well, Raff the Sweetling, do you remember Lommy Greenhands?”

Raff opened his eyes wide, shaking his head and trying to get away.

“It was the wounded young boy whose throat you pierced. Do you remember now?” Arry jostled Raff making him moan with pain again. “We called him Greenhands because he was a dyer’s apprentice and his father was a dyer himself. Lommy’s hands were in dye stains.”

Raff gathered all his forces and hit her blindly with his elbow. He squeezed out of Arya’s grip and crawled to the door. Hardly had he stood up and reached for the door knob when he was hit in the back. He smashed his face on the door though he still managed to push Arry and almost got away but she caught him and pinned him to the floor.

All his hoarse moaning and cries for help died short, when Arry swung the heavy wooden door cracking his skull and crumbling his face as a piece of wasted paper.


	4. THE MUTE EXECUTIONER

Arry only had to ask a few tradeswomen in King’s Landing to know where the former executioner lived. She found the ‘silent demon’s place’ very quickly.

She knocked and waited for the bolt to click and the door to open. Ser Ilyn Payne, the ex-King’s Justice was standing in the doorway. He’d lost almost all his hair over the years and his face looked like a skull covered with wrinkled skin. What was left of his hair had got grey and hung in dirty tufts. Ser Ilyn studied his guest, his mouth widening in what seemed like a smile, and there lit a sparkle in his eyes. He let Arya in.

His home turned out to be just as ragged and old as himself. It was very dusty, the furniture had long lost its colour and the floor was all scratched. Devastation and decay seemed to rule the place.

Arya was suddenly anxious, her lips dry.

“Ser Ilyn Payne, do you know who I am?”

The executioner nodded. He closed the door behind her and stayed there, leaning on it.

“I suppose there’s no need to explain why I’m here then.”

The sword left the sheath with a slight clang. Ser Ilyn nodded again and ran a crooked finger across his throat. Arya felt an unwelcome tear running down her cheek. She put the blade on Ser Ilyn’s bony shoulder as if she was knighting him and made him kneel.

“My father knelt before you cut his head off.”

Arya’s voice trembled, betraying her. Ser Ilyn looked her straight in the eye but there was no plea in his eyes. He looked almost triumphant. Arya shook her head and stepped back, glanced at the large rusted sword in the dark corner. It was the sword that had killed so many people, the one that had made people’s hearts squeeze in horror. She came closer to it, touched the cold handle, and then took it in her hand. She swung the sword to adjust to its weight and drew a wide arch. She checked the sharpness of the blade with her nail.

“Stretch out your hands!” Arya was glad to see a shadow of panic in the colourless eyes of the mute executioner. She kicked an old stool towards him. “Put them on it!”

Arya stood over Ser Ilyn. The two handed sword was too heavy for her and her hands vibrated with effort.

“You won’t execute anyone anymore,” she said, content, and watched the blood gushing from his fresh stumps.

Ser Ilyn Payne’s executioner’s sword worked well for the last time.


	5. A KNIGHT FROM HOUSE TRANT

Arya heard a distant unfamiliar voice:

“What are we going to do with her? Shall we kill the bitch?”

“Kill? Why, no, Ser Meryn, how dare we!” The second voice was softer and higher though still a man’s voice. “Do you even understand who’s in front of you?”

“Why do I care? The bitch was going to kill me, you said it yourself. An attempt to kill a knight of the King’s Guard is punished by death.”

“Still, believe me; this girl is far more important. Let me introduce you Lady Arya Stark of House Stark, the daughter to Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully…”

“What is this nonsense, Varys! I know Lady Arya, the wife of Lord Bolton of Dreadfort, very well.”

“Oh, dear Ser Meryn”, Varys softly chuckled. “Pray forgive me, but I think you are the last to be under the illusion about the identity of Lady Bolton. Let me be the one to disillusion you. Lady Arya is the girl you see right now. I do not know the poor girl who was sent to please our sweet Ramsay, not that it was of any importance.”

The only reply he got was dumbstruck silence; the knight must have had difficulty coming to terms with what he’d heard.

Arya moved a little to see how well she was bound. Not all her numbness came from the ropes. She remembered a cup of ale that she drank in the inn and remembered losing consciousness afterwards, everything went dark. She couldn’t feel anything covering her eyes yet everything remained dark.

“I think our lady has awakened.”

A soft hand patted her on the shoulder.

“When’s this potion’s effect going to wear off?”

“Do you mean to know when she’ll be able to see again? In about four hours, if I have it right.” Varys made an exaggerated sigh. “You wouldn’t believe how good a sleeping draught this potion could be, if not for this regrettable drawback. It’s in situations like this that I can use it.”

A strong hand squeezed Arya’s neck, cutting off the air.

“Is that true you were planning to kill me?”

“No-no, you shouldn’t, Ser Meryn, you don’t know it all… It would be much wiser to leave her here and go tell the news to the Queen.”

“Thank you for the help, eunuch, but it would be best if you gave us half an hour with the lady. We do have something to talk about, ain’t we?”

“What a pity.”

Arya couldn’t see Lord Varys but she heard the rustle of his silk clothes and understood he’d moved aside. A heavy blow to her cheek made her head swing and hit the wall behind.

“So, why are you here?”

“That’s an easy question. Lady Arya wants to avenge her family and everything that had been done to them.” That was the eunuch, of course. “She has already been to Harrenhall and paid a visit to Ser Ilyn.”

Arya smirked:

“I started with Lannisport. There was a small unfinished business there.”

She told herself she had to buy some time, because with every second the poison grew weaker.

“How unfortunate,” Varys sounded genuinely upset. “Either my agents aren’t as good as I thought they were or it’s my analytic skills that’s failing me. And who was the miserable man?”

“Some Dunsen. The name wouldn’t be of much use to you.”

“And who’s next on that list of yours? That is besides Ser Meryn, of course.”

“I don’t know shit why this wench is so worked up with me,” grumbled the knight.

“That’s not too good, dear Ser Meryn. Sometimes, good memory can save your life. You must have killed somebody dear to Lady Arya.”

“He did,” said Arya, feeling joy as she started to feel her body again. “His name was Syrio Forel and he was my dancing teacher.”

She was frantically trying to untie the knots on her wrists. 

Ser Meryn laughed out loud.

“That bloody Braavosi?” he asked incredulously.

_Just come up to me, come a bit closer, and you’ll know who’s bloody here._

The Many-Faced God heard her prayer.

“It’s time we finished it.” Meryn Trant’s strong arms lifted Arya off the floor.

Every knight wore a dagger. The handle slid right into Arya’s hand. She didn’t need to see to stick the blade into Ser Meryn’s eye. Or to jump backwards when the armoured body fell on the floor.

All those lessons in the House of Black and White didn’t go to waste. The darkness around her filled with hundreds of sounds. Water trickling and drunken laughter, metal boots banging on the stone streets, coins jingling. The invisible world started to take shape.

Quickly, she cut the ropes around her ankles. She had to go but she also had to finish something first. She stopped to listen for a second and moved swiftly to the left, pressing the plump neck with her forearm.

“You wouldn’t refuse to help me, Lord Varys, would you?” she whispered, breathing in the sweet fragrance of his fear.


	6. CARNAGE IN THE RED KEEP

The feast in the Small Hall was at its height when the arrival of Lord Varys was announced. Queen Cersei waved her hand bidding him in. She was sitting in the centre of the table, dressed in emerald silks laced with pale green.

Varys entered, his magnificent clothes sawn with golden threads rustling as he walked. Despite his usual self he wasn’t smiling, his lips were sealed tight. The deep furrow on his forehead gave away his anxiety and uneasiness. He bent ever so slightly and came closer to the Queen. The servant with him put a big, richly decorated vase in front of her.

“Lord Varys, did you decide to surprise us?” Cersei smiled. “What is it? I’m dying to see.”

Varys took a handkerchief out of his sleeve and blotted his forehead. Then he leaned to the Queen and started whispering. It was easy to see the Queen disliked what he was saying, her smile faded, wrinkles appeared around her mouth. Her face turned into a stony white mask. She listened to Varys, looked around the guests and ordered:

“Show it!”

His hands trembling, the eunuch lifted the lid and a startled gasp ran through the hall. On the black velvet was Ser Meryn Trant’s one-eyed head. There was folded parchment strapped with a grey ribbon in the empty eye-socket.

Cersei winced in disgust but took the message and read it. Twisting her lips, she tore the parchment and called for one of the white knights standing at the wall. She gave all the necessary orders and continued drinking as if nothing out of ordinary had happened. She waved with her cup for the feast to go on.

The music was loud but the guests kept whispering. Cersei’s smile was starting to look more like an evil grin. She was prepared to meet the enemy face to face and waiting turned the feast into an excruciating torture.

_And at that very moment…_

Arya Stark got inside the Red Keep through the cellar of the Master of Whisperer’s house. The East Yard was full of guards but the darkness covered the uninvited guest.

In Arya’s head the voice of the man from the House of Black and White whispered:  
“The darkness is the gift of the Many-Faced God. It’ll cover you and protect you; it’ll hide you from the unwanted attention. Just let it hug you.”

Arya froze waiting for the grey haze to engulf her and then went to the gate of the Small Hall. Her step was springy but silent. The two guards at the door were bored and didn’t even squeak when a thick cloud of darkness stung them in the guts with an invisible yet sharp blade. They died quickly and Arya continued on her way.

The doors to the Small Hall were guarded by five soldiers in heavy armour. The torches were bright but Arya didn’t need to hide anymore. In a moment the air was filled with swords clanging so loud it overlapped the noise of the feast. Arya fought violently but remained cool-headed as those soldiers were simply in her way to the sacred goal.

She pushed the heavy doors and came inside.

The Hall welcomed her with total silence. It was so thick the air seemed dead forever. Arya looked around and saw wide-opened eyes, gaping mouths, horrified faces. She looked past all the people who seemed to have turned into stone and found the one she was looking for.

“Queen Cersei!” said Arya in solemn voice.

The words broke the silence as if by magic. Somebody shrieked. The Queen stood up; her crimson lips a flare on her dead pale face.

“The spawn of the traitor Stark,” she proudly sneered. “Well, Varys has given me your message.”

“That’s good.” Arya sneered back. “So, you’ve been expecting me.”

“Of course, I even arranged someone to welcome you.” Cersei bent her head and an enormous knight in white armour came from behind her chair. His face was hidden behind the visor. Steel clad hands were clutching a two handed sword.

The knight stood beside the Queen silently waiting for her orders.

“Say hello to Lady Arya” the Queen mockingly told him. The steel giant hit the floor with his sword thrice.

“This is Robert Strong, my champion.” Cersei stroked his shining arm. “He has saved me once and will do that again and again for as long as need be…”

Arya squeezed her sword. She’d heard of Ser Robert Strong. That was thanks to his immense power that Cersei had managed to keep the throne and, possibly, her life. They said that Qyburn created the cursed knight with his forbidden magic. Well, now Arya had a chance to know for sure if that was true.

“That would be my honour…” Arya was steadily looking for any faults in the giant’s armour.

Cersei’s smile was blindly wide.

“You didn’t think it was going to be so easy, bitch, did you?”

Arya lifted her sword and took a stance.

“In fact, that was exactly what I thought.”

Ser Robert’s attack was instantaneous, which was unexpected from such a huge man. The blade cut the air right near Arya’s ear and she managed to escape the blow only thanks to her impossible reaction of the servant of the Many-Faced God.

She jumped to the side and felt the deadly cold breath on her cheek. The knight was advancing and swinging his sword. Arya lunged forward aiming at the opening in the armour on his knee. She had Ser Meryn Trant’s dagger in her left hand in a split second. She didn’t think she could distract the knight with a false blow but a second blade wouldn’t go amiss. Arya span high into the air and hit Ser Robert into the chest. It was like hitting a rock. He threw her back with his steel clad hand as if she was some annoying insect. She gasped with the sharp pain in the stomach, rolled over and jumped to her feet. She’d done it just in time because the wide blade hit the floor where her head had just been.

Arya rolled under the knight’s feet and thrust the dagger into a slot of his armour boot hoping to slow him down even if just a bit. The giant didn’t even seem to notice. He kept advancing like a callous statue, just as dead and inexorable. Arya stroke back and felt her whole arm go numb. Ser Robert Strong didn’t get his name for nothing. For a moment Arya felt cold fear creeping up her back because the enemy was too strong for her, too fast.

She escaped another attack and saw the Queen’s green eyes. They were greedily watching the fight. Ser Strong’s attack was so fierce Arya had to back off to avoid getting killed and she knew then that she wouldn’t last long.

They were going in circles, Arya didn’t even try to attack, and she just kept fighting back, saving the energy for the defense. Time was passing like sand falling down a glass vessel. She was getting ever so tired. The rate of the fight was too fast, exhausting. Arya’s sleeves were heavy with blood from the many cuts. A few times she thought the knight was playing with her, prolonging her suffering. The darkness behind her eyes beckoned her, told her to stop fighting, to give in and leave forever, to put an end to this horrible dance with the beast.

And once again she heard the voice of the man from the House of Black and White. 

_Who are you, stupid girl?_

Her knees buckled, a sharp pain in the right side woke her up. She dropped the dagger and pressed her hand to the wound, staggering. 

_I’m nobody._ She whispered and closed her eyes welcoming the darkness. _I’m nobody._

She was a bad apprentice, she’d never learned that lesson. Arya expected the man from the House of Black and White to tell her she was lying again, but the voice stayed silent.

 _Nobody._ she repeated out loud and saw Ser Robert freeze mid-swing. He didn’t see her. As didn’t the guests, although they kept turning their heads, trying to find her. No matter how sharp were their eyes they were not able to see the hazy shadow in the middle of the Small Hall.

The Many-Faced God took her in.

With a yell of fury she thrust her sword in Ser Robert’s armpit. The knight staggered, dropped his sword and Arya cut his head off. The sound of steel cutting steel was so high she’d almost gone deaf. Ser Robert Strong made a step, then another, and fell on the floor. Arya jumped ahead to catch his head and was horrified to see the helmet was empty. She picked up her sword and started hitting the body, breaking the armour of the Queen’s knight like a giant crab’s shell. And it turned out the armour plates were covering soft slimy flesh covered with intricate rotten veins. The skin was partly blackened and cracked as if burned, and partly blistered pink, full of pus waiting to break through.

Arya faltered a few steps back, holding her nose, not that it could help against the sickening stench from the corpse that used to be Ser Gregor Clegane.

Arya picked up the dagger and came up to Cersei. She even felt a little bit of respect for her when the Queen unfastened the tight emerald necklace leaving her throat exposed.

That night, for the first time in the last six years, Arya slept like a baby without having said her usual prayer.

_Ser Gregor, Dansen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best to translate it but I know my English is not perfect. If you think you could help me with beta-reading I would really appreciate it.


End file.
